


Path of the Pharaohs

by Dante8



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:21:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26241835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dante8/pseuds/Dante8
Summary: Erotica set in a museum.





	Path of the Pharaohs

It was considered wildly improper for ladies to visit the Museum of Egyptian Horrors, and though Mathilde had been told often in her youth that she was no lady, this did not convince Theodore to stop his endless worries about what the neighbors would think. (Even though, as she was quick to point out, they lived in the middle of a heath and so had no neighbors.) It was therefore not until after hours that she finally persuaded him to accompany her there.  


The mock pyramid of the museum glittered by moonlight as if made of real gold, and Mathilde almost clapped her hands in glee to see it, before remembering her promise. “We’ll be silent as the grave all there and back, dear Theo,” she had said, watching her own lips curl around the words in the mirror. “And we’ll be in darkness too,” she had added, knowing he was about to object to the kohl that lined her eyes. Since their wedding thirty years ago she had found little occasion for cosmetics, much to her disappointment. Though some daring ladies of a certain age regularly copied the makeup of the young flappers, she well knew what Theodore thought of that – and it wasn’t complimentary.  


But he was not without pride and joy in her appearance. On the walk down, she had smiled to catch him furtively eying the way the black lace of her gown clung to her thighs as she strode ahead of him down the lane. She too had always been pleased with her figure, unfashionably athletic though it was. The strain of her powerful, heavy shoulders against the dark silk she wore sent a delicious thrill down her back, and she almost wished the cloth would give way as she stepped forward, spilling her heated flesh into the warmth of the night.  


Mathilde reached for the museum’s door, opening it with an uncharacteristic cautiousness lest a creak alert someone. There was silence. Letting out a breath she did not know she had been holding, she crossed the threshold. Theo soon followed, joining her in a small, low-ceilinged room where one moonlit door questioned in scarlet paint, “Dare you follow the path of the pharaohs?” She did not grin impishly at the question, she did not squeeze Theo’s hand in excitement – she did not have to. He knew her too well. He nodded to her, and together they opened the door.  


For a moment their eyes were overwhelmed by firelight, and then by beauty. Exquisite stones which could only be the ancient lapis lazuli Mathilde had read of in books sent streaks of midnight through the gray marble floor. Hanging torches blazed against impossibly silver walls, their color a challenge to moonlight itself. Heat and light enough for a summer’s day poured down from them.  


It was quite some time before Theo noticed the sarcophagus. He nudged Mathilde’s foot with his own and pointed toward the shadowed corner where it lay. Scarcely six feet tall, carved of a dull brown stone without polish, it ought to have attracted little notice among its grand surroundings. Yet although this thought must have occurred to Theo, it did not stop him from walking over and placing a hand gently and reverently against its lid. Something in his awestruck manner drew Mathilde, too, and soon she was there beside him.  


Theo opened the lid. Let that be repeated – without permission, against all regulations, following no-one’s lead, he freely and willingly opened the lid. The earth itself opening could not have astonished Mathilde more. The golden interior of the sarcophagus reflected her husband’s familiar, lithe form, the same pale skin and trim figure she had so often caressed and held, and yet his brown eyes held a light she had never seen.  


Given what had already happened, Mathilde scarcely had more room to be surprised when he climbed into the sarcophagus, settling down into its velvet-black depths. Could it be possible that there was room enough for her as well? Surely somehow a breeze crept into the closed room as she thought that – no mere shiver could have tingled her back as deliciously as what she felt at that moment.  


She crept in, the walls pressing against her sides as she sank into the ancient depths. Could this be what Theo felt? This feeling of a thousand lives at once, each one more grand and golden than the last? The lives of all that had once slept their final sleep here? She was not lonely, cold, ordinary Mathilde- she was a queen, a goddess, a bride on her wedding night. Her heavy, powerful body embraced and was them all. The stone clasped her with an unearthly heat. She would have thought it clasped her like a lover, but before she could do so, Theo reached for her and proved the thought wrong. She would have wondered which long-dead prince, which king, which god, lived in him as he did.  


She would have wondered many things, had she the time and mind to do so. All she could truly think as his hands made contact was "The grave’s a fine and private place…" He brushed her hair back from her neck, merely that, and her skin tasted a lifetime’s worth of Egyptian sunlight. She leaned in to kiss him, the kiss that always began their nights together, small and dainty as he would have it, but found herself kissed first. But not kissed – not if that was the word for what they had done before. That had been love, true, but not fire. Not his mouth welcoming hers with impossible wet heat as he bit the corner of her lips, blossoming a pain that was just right. Not the not-quite-bruising grip of his hands around her waist, her own hands moving to pull his shirt open, his bare shoulders suddenly, gloriously free.  


She had seen him so often, and yet truly seen him never before now. An exquisite warmth spread through her as she saw in him at last everything he truly was, had been, could be.  


What followed was indescribable, and so, unlike most writers who write that, I shall not attempt to describe it. I will only say that when Mathilde and Theo returned to their house, they walked through mud and rain and disapproving stares - and neither noticed at all. 


End file.
